


What no mortal is meant to have

by krasnoe_solnishko



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Existential Angst, M/M, Pining Dean, Revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 13:58:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6426598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krasnoe_solnishko/pseuds/krasnoe_solnishko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hardly recognises this greedy, needy bastard he's become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What no mortal is meant to have

**Author's Note:**

> Supernatural comes into my life ;)

He hardly recognises this greedy, needy bastard he's become. What a pitiful mess - he would throw up, either of disgust or of fear, if he had anything save for a sandwich since the day before. Never clingy, never going for anything but casual (except for Sam, the only constant in his life), selfish just enough to be content with what he has, never wishing for anything other than simple things: wheels to keep moving, a bed for the night, a company to fill silence, a bottle of beer at the end of day. Now his whole being is pure want - where he isn't rage, or despair, or guilt, so much he's almost choking on them - and it's new if not refreshing. He's wanting, head spinning with it, he feels it in his very bones, hands trembling, all the world toning down.

He's burning, drowning in the need to possess what no mortal man is meant to have - who has ever dared to even think of such a perversion, a blasphemy, he muses - and all he gets back is an impassive glance, serenity incarnate. He guesses, it serves him right, even if it does nothing to soothe the hunger inside. He must be ultimately fucked up in his head. Nothing new here.

But while he's needing and wanting and staring eternity in the eye - it's staring at him back and maybe the fact that Cas doesn't leave (or at least always finds a way, a reason to come back) is all he'll ever have. Maybe it will even be enough one day, maybe he will learn to make do with it. As he learnt to make do with so many other things years, a whole lifetime ago.

Or maybe he should push his luck one more time and see how it will all turn out. What is there to lose, after all? He's been to hell and back, and through so much he doesn't care any more. So he crooks his lips in a smile - not as bold as he used to master, just a tiny muscle move, almost timid by his standards - and takes a step forward. He’s a man of action, isn’t he? Time to prove it right. He clenches his hands by his sides and swallows hard - lost for words, mind blank except for this all consuming need he's come to associate with...

The serene glance turns warmer (and oh, how he’s dying for every bit of fondness in it, for every flicker of emotion – so rare, so human); then somewhat sorrowful. The vessel's hand lifts, two fingers touch Dean's forehead, and he is out.

 

~ end ~


End file.
